YFLRD

I was 19 when I finally stopped opening the door for unrequited love. I was 20 when I first learned that courage tasted like bitter wine and metal. Like blood and honey. When I told you I loved you, I screamed it. I felt it rip it’s way out of my throat, and it felt so good that I cried. The other day, you walked by me with your friends and I could feel the pity in your stare. Don’t you do that. Don’t you look at what I had for you and call it weak. Not when you were the one afraid of it. I stood there with my hands open, my mouth bruised tender with supplication. Don’t you dare treat me like a victim of my own emotions, like being moved to my knees by love was a mistake that I regret. I will go to my grave with the memory of the bravery in my bones. I am not ashamed of any of it. Not the closed door in my face or the static silence of my phone for weeks after. I was not afraid. I am still not afraid. I will never be afraid again. Bring in the beasts with teeth like tree branches. Bring in all the men who will never love me. Bring in the monsters with faces carved out of stone. I am not afraid. They can eat me alive. I am not afraid. I will cut my way out of their bellies. I am not afraid. Never again.